


Empire

by AnimalHaus (Viva_La_Vier), Cosmic_Tea



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anthropomorphic, F/F, Future Fic, Gang Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Prostitution, Racism, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25037545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viva_La_Vier/pseuds/AnimalHaus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Tea/pseuds/Cosmic_Tea
Summary: She supposed being cold was just like that—that force of indifference that made her soul itself feel numb—that winter was nothing more than a state of mind she'd been trapped in for over a decade.
Relationships: Salvatore | Tracer/Livia
Kudos: 13





	1. No Rest for the Wicked

**TRACER**  
December 12, 2042

"And what are _you?"_ a drunken Labrador laughed fiendishly, a nearly-empty bottle of gin in hand. "I bet you have _mange."_ He turned to a well-dressed Husky with a sinking grin. "What do you think she is, Sampson? Willing to bet there's some Grizzly Bear in there?"

Leaning against a building post, Sampson cackled. "What a fool you are. Can't you tell she's _far_ too dirty to make a correct—"

"Shut up. You two have a count of ten to get off this property before I ring the Boss." Tracer pressed her finger against the DigiPad a final time to verify her correctness. Sure enough, Li Wei had slotted neither dog for admission to The Crowbar. "I don't care what the fuck your Pedigree is. Doesn't change the fact that you're not on the list."

"We're not afraid of you, _Mutt,"_ chortled the Lab. "You can't hurt us out in the open, anyway."

"Yeah," Sampson agreed, defiantly crossing his arms. "You'd go to prison for _years_ if you attacked two Pedigrees."

Grinning facetiously, Tracer couldn't help but wonder how those two idiots lived as long as they had. "I've already been there. And I'll risk going again if you don't get the fuck off this property." She tapped the DigiPad again to type the distress code. Though it was almost the end of her shift, she knew the Boss would want to hear about the disturbance.

"That so?" The Lab took a hasty step toward Tracer. "In that case, don't think Sampson and I would mind sending you back," he growled and displayed his teeth, smiling menacingly.

Tracer barred the dog's advances with a meaty forearm. "You're not supposed to—"

"What the hell is going on out here?" a gruff voice asked from the doorway.

It didn't take long for Li Wei—an immaculately-dressed Sun Bear—to emerge from the club. Both dogs froze as soon as they saw him, immediately processing his identity.

"We're so sorry, Li Wei!" The Lab defensively showed his padded palms. "We'll leave—"

"You will," said Li Wei. "And you'll stop harassing my Bouncer. Mutt or not, she could crush your skull in a hand." He pulled a clipped cigar from his pocket, lighting it slowly. "The fact that your fathers have access to this club doesn't entitle your entry. Todd and Luke _earned_ their money."

Without another word, the Lab tightened his hand around Sampson's forearm and stalked off, fuming.

Li Wei turned to Tracer with an exhausted expression. "I thank God every day my son's mother is a Panda. Pedigree children get shittier every generation." Taking a puff of his cigar, Li Wei pointed to her DigiPad. "Looks like Kanut's late again. Send him a reminder to change shifts."

As Tracer sent the Polar Bear a message, she swore she could hear Li Wei muttering something about firing him for his consistent tardiness.

"I see you're not feeling very talkative today," Li Wei observed pointedly. "I wonder if I'll ever hear a peep out of you when you're not dealing with spoiled teenagers or drunk folks."

"Or all of the above," Tracer added with a raise of her brow, but soon fell silent again.

Li Wei reached up and awarded her a pat on the side of the arm. "So you do talk," he said before returning to his cigar. "What happened today wasn't your fault. Those kids have problems." Then, he extended a paw to take Tracer's DigiPad. "Go home. I'll have your salary delivered at noon tomorrow."

Tracer turned in her tech with a curt nod and Li Wei retreated inside. As Kanut approached, she took off her jacket—revealing a wifebeater with nothing beneath—since her fur was enough to keep her warm in the middle of December.

"Hey, Kanut," she said in a voice so low the words almost slipped under her breath. "Boss caught you late again. You gotta be on time Monday."

Kanut dismissed Tracer with a grunt, assuming their shared station for his shift. It wasn't just her giving anyone the silent treatment: none of the Bouncers spoke much.

All Tracer knew as she started toward her apartment was that she and Kanut were fortunate enough to have thick layers of fur for the winter. She couldn't say the same for most of the animals she saw along the streets, wrapped in layer under layer to keep themselves warm while snow drifted down from the midnight sky. She wondered what it was like to feel cold in the winter. Or, really, to feel much at all. It had been years since her heart moved from its remote shell; two months since she picked herself up from the desolate floors of the Detroit Prison for Female Animals.

She supposed being cold was just like that—that force of indifference that made her soul itself feel numb—that winter was nothing more than a state of mind she'd been trapped in for over a decade.

"In that case, I can't apologize, love," a sharp voice interrupted Tracer's thoughts, reverberating matter-of-factly from around the corner. "If you can't pay, you don't play. No IOUs. You know the rules, Mister Fox."

Tracer didn't know why the sound made her think so much, or why the parkway she walked alongside seemed so abandoned compared to the one across the street. She'd have to pass around that corner on her way home.

"That _stupid_ Fox," the same voice seethed furiously.

Tracer's ears swiveled forward as she turned along the sidewalk, discovering the described Fox had already left. In his place stood a short-haired cat: a Siamese Pedigree, by the looks of her...but with not nearly enough clothing to keep her warm in December. She wasn't like the other animals Tracer had seen, wearing several layers of undershirts and coats to stay warm.

"Hey," Tracer said quietly. Against the sounds of traffic and distant chatter, she barely caught the cat's attention. "Are you cold?"

If the stranger was shivering to begin with, she was adept at hiding her quaking. She grinned lasciviously as her blueberry eyes swept over every crook of Tracer's body.

Having seldom felt more flustered in her life, Tracer draped her leather jacket over the cat's shoulders. "Here," she said awkwardly. "This'll help. My Boss has about thirty of them, so I can just tell him I lost it."

The cat met Tracer's eyes for the first time. Something deep inside her gaze was soft, but her exterior—hard and disarmingly lustful—made Tracer retreat a tentative step and release a low, anxious chuckle. That stranger looked at Tracer the way a predator eyed her prey, even though her jacket dwarfed her the second she donned it.

"I'll do you several better," the cat replied sultrily. _"You_ can keep me warm tonight."

"What?" Tracer stammered. After stepping away, she finally examined the finer details of the cat's outfit: fishnets. In hand, a garbage bag likely filled with dollar bills. Tracer's eyes widened knowingly. How had she not noticed this before?

"I think, uh," breathed Tracer, her ears rotating back as the tips grew hot. "I think you have the wrong idea. I'm sorry."

"No," the cat replied honeyedly. Before Tracer knew it, the stranger was already on her arm. "I don't think I do." She tilted her head, brows determinedly level. "Wouldn't you like to take a Pedigree home?"

Tracer didn't know whether or not she could escape someone so insistent. Her heart froze in her chest, disabling her from advancing closer or stepping away...perhaps because she wasn't as in control of herself as she'd thought. 

Tracer turned to scrutinize the stranger's face; to reap her intentions if they were clear enough to see. She quickly discovered they weren't.

Still, behind those violet eyes, Tracer gleaned pieces of a desire she was far too intimately familiar with: the urge to run away. She couldn't help but wonder what from.

Finally, Tracer steeled her resolve enough to ask questions. "What's your name?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, darling?" The stranger smirked. "I think I'll make you work for it."

Tracer sighed and asked, "How old are you?"

Pressing closer to Tracer's arm, the stranger sent a wave of warmth through her body. "How old do you want me to be?"

"Your actual age," Tracer said flatly. She hadn't a talent for hiding how flustered she'd grown, dreading the realization that the stranger probably relished in her feelings of attraction.

"I'm twenty-two."

Tracer was relieved to hear she'd cleared eighteen, considering her promiscuous pastime. "And are you okay?" Her expression shifted to one of deep concern. This cat was all alone in the middle of winter, and with a job like hers, well...the least Tracer could do was ask when faced with the obvious.

_"Mmm,_ but you could make me better," the cat purred and felt up Tracer's rib cage—the highest on her body she could reach—with soft paws.

Tracer caught her arms by the wrists. Careful to keep her long nails from slicing her, she crouched to bring the cat's paws back gently to her sides.

"You can stay with me tonight," said Tracer. "I can tell you need to go somewhere. I don't know why, and I won't ask right now. I've been there." Her jaw tightened decisively. "But you need to cut this shit out."

For a fleeting moment, the cat looked surprised, as if she'd never had someone address her that way before. Her demeanor shifted back to its former confidence after mere fractions of a second.

Tracer still didn't understand why a Pedigree would have to run from anyone. This cat...she wasn't like Nero, Jean, or Li Wei, was she? Her ears pinned back as she walked the rest of the way to her apartment, deep in thought. 

Finally, she stopped in front of the complex, her gaze steely as she eyed the mysterious stranger. "What's your name?"

The cat placed a paw on Tracer's forearm with a daring grin.

"Livia."

Tracer watched as Livia placed her things on the table in a practiced manner, even leaving her bag of dollar bills. She supposed dropping everything for those whose spaces Livia occupied became a regular affair over years of tireless work.

"You can sleep in my bed if you'd like," said Tracer, pulling her personal DigiPad off the table for a list of nearby nocturnal restaurants. "What kind of takeout do you want?"

Livia seemed to disregard Tracer's last statement as a steady purr erupted from her chest. "Does that mean I get to sleep with _you,_ love?" She circled Tracer like a predator, closing in with every opportunity she had.

"Livia," Tracer breathed as her ears pinned apprehensively back. "Stop. I'm going to set up a bed on the floor, and you're going to tell me what you want to eat." 

It was a mistake looking up from the DigiPad. Tracer reeled back against the table, all but knocking it over after being greeted with Livia's pale, exposed cleavage. She was fortunate to have fur dark enough to mask a flustered blush.

Livia stared seductively at Tracer while she retreated, making a face that demanded to know whether she counted as a menu item. "Fish would be wonderful."

_"Right."_ Tracer forced her head down to place a food order. Afterward, she stood again and picked a plain, white shirt from her closet. "I'd appreciate it if you'd put this on." Wanting to tell Livia that it would make her more comfortable if she wore it; that it'd be less distracting, Tracer opened her mouth to speak but couldn't manifest her thoughts. She settled for handing Livia the shirt while wearing her best attempt at an indifferent expression.

Tracer was pleasantly surprised when Livia pulled the article over her head. The thing looked like a dress on her, but somehow, she still wore it well.

"Beer and cigars, hmm, darling?" Livia observed the contents on Tracer's end table as she settled on the foot of the bed. "I'm more of a wine-and-cigarettes woman myself."

Raising a brow, Tracer pulled back the sheets for Livia. "I would pick some up for you, but I don't know whether or not you want to rob me yet."

Livia crawled beneath the sheets, her countenance displaying a fleeting mix of gratitude and confusion until it promptly returned to normal. Meanwhile, Tracer moved blankets from the top of her closet to a space on the floor.

"I don't steal," Livia started, humming as she thought, "not from _everyone,_ anyway." She returned her gaze to Tracer. "So, do you have a thing for women in oversized tees, or—"

"No," sighed Tracer as she dropped a pillow on the tile. "You don't need to know what I'm into. You don't need to know anything about me."

Livia brushed off that statement like a dust of snow, asking flagrantly, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven," Tracer answered. She felt it was only fair, considering she asked Livia the same.

_"Mmm,_ an older woman," Livia said with a wide grin. Tracer couldn't tell if she was still flirting or merely teasing for the hell of it. "What's your name?"

She shot Livia a look over her shoulder as she finished the makeshift bed. "Tracer."

"Doesn't sound like a real one, love." Livia cocked her head curiously. "Where'd you pick it up?"

Tracer settled in a chair beside the end table, crossing her arms. "See, these are the types of things I'm talking about." Her expression hardened into something stone-like as she met Livia's eyes. "I won't answer any more of your questions until you tell me what you're running from."

Livia chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "I _like_ persistent women," she said with a grin. "I'll tell you why I'm running if you tell me where you got your name, darling."

Tracer exhaled deeply as she pondered her history. There wasn't too much harm in telling her about it; she'd already done her time in prison. "All right," she surrendered to Livia's proposition. "To make a long story short, I needed to make some fast money as a teenager. My mother, well..." her expression grew distant as if she were trapped in a vivid reverie. "She needed expensive medications. So I got myself knee-deep in Ring fights at this janky club off of I-96." It was best if she simplified her story for her and Livia's safety, so—keeping the nuances close to her chest—she added, "Tracer was my name in the ring. You know, like the aliases they give strippers?" Tracer glared pointedly at Livia after putting an edge on the final word, hoping she'd turned the tables enough to stop the endless questioning.

"You've caught me red-handed, love," Livia purred as a lascivious twinkle entered her eyes. "I _could_ give you a demonstration sometime if you have twenty dollars on hand."

"Or," suggested Tracer, her tone almost bitter, "you could tell me what you're running from."

"Hm," Livia hummed softly. "Well, I don't know if you recall him, love. But there's this Fox, Roger." She turned to look at Tracer as she said, "Roger sometimes gets himself into trouble for following the girls home. Whenever he wants to pay for extra services but can't afford it," she laughed a little, adding, "which happens surprisingly often, I have to stay somewhere else to avoid his stalking."

"So this means you'll be gone tomorrow?" Tracer asked with a furrowed brow.

Before Livia could respond, a knock at the door reverberated throughout the room.

It was time to eat.


	2. Weight of the World

**LIVIA**  
December 11, 2042

When sunlight seeped through the shutters in the early hours of the morning, it was supposed to remind animals of the things they took for granted: a warm bed. The faint, groggy noises of a lover stirring awake, sending waves of warmth through their better half. Coffee and an embrace before departure to a day shift.

But Livia's mornings were always different.

 _"Mmmm...good morning, gorgeous..."_ a familiar voice purred from across the room, reaching out to find a cold vacancy where Livia had been. She silently approached and pushed a pillow toward him instead. He took the bait, then opened his eyes, confusion and exhaustion wrought in his face. "Huh? Wait..." His eyes darted absentmindedly around the bedroom. "Livia?"

Half-dressed, Livia leaned against the wall, more than an arm's reach away from the bedside. "Oh, darling," she chimed with a compulsive flick of her tail. "Did you think I was going to stay here the entire day?"

His eyes were so _blue._ When Livia gazed into them, all she could see was desire—that same, crushing loneliness she knew that became the weight of the world as nights turned into mornings—the terrifying, abysmal force that made her seek a stranger's company in the first place. They were the same, and yet...

"Tooru..." Livia trailed off with a tilt of her head and a grin. "...You know I can't stay, love."

They had nothing in common.

Before her eyes, the Mutt propped himself up on his arms, his muzzle contorting with irritation. "Well, fuck," he said bitterly. "Excuse me, then." His lips twisted up into a grin as he reached for Livia's cheek, a touch she leaned into instinctively. "I thought," he thoughtfully quirked a brow, then brashly added, "Well, I don't know. Maybe because I'm one of your _top clients_ , that you'd stay a bit longer before running into another man's arms."

Tooru made his loneliness known. Livia didn't know whether she thought him brave or pathetic to let her in on the feelings she chose to keep close to her chest.

But that wasn't her business. It was more like a side-effect of it; a nasty migraine she suffered through after medicating an affliction.

"Well," Livia chuckled. "If I stayed, you would be poor...wouldn't you, Pickles?" A playful smirk appeared on her face as she placed a tantalizing kiss on Tooru's cheek. "I know _I'm_ what you spend your paycheck on, dear, and if you want me to come back for more, well..." Livia sank to the floor and reached for her pants. She transformed herself into bait in an instant, making suggestive movements at every turn until she rose with the article in hand. "You need to pay the proper price. We wouldn't want to have our fun nights together because you spent your life's savings on me, would we?"

Tooru found it increasingly difficult to tell her off as she finished dressing. He knew how much he could spend, but a blush spread over his dun cheeks as she came closer. Stopping her with a hand tight around her wrist, Tooru planted intrusive kisses on her neck until he finally felt like asking, "Well, my love. How much are you gonna charge me for one this morning?"

Livia smiled wolfishly. "See? _Now_ we're talking."

**December 13, 2042**

Staring out the window of a taxi, Livia wondered when Tooru would call her again. He didn't favor spending time without her, but Livia's experience with Tracer made her question everything about her frequent clients.

Tracer had taken her in—had provided a bed and a terribly-cheap-but-delicious meal—without any promiscuous intentions. Sure, it would have cost her to use Livia like that, but the way Tracer asked her to put that oversized shirt on when she grew flustered...the way she tucked her beneath the sheets without so much as an "accidental" touch in the wrong place...

Her mind ran on about the night before until the taxi came to a stop. A Mink Mutt extended a paw from the driver's seat to collect a neatly-folded stack of cash from Livia, graciously accepting it as she icily said, "Keep the change, love."

He drove off after she stepped into the sunlight.

She never went straight to the parking garage. Instead, Livia took care to check her surroundings for a few blocks of movement, performing a sweep of the perimeter every time she entered the dimly lit tower and crossed a row of parking spaces to reach the elevator on the other side.

Until the doors closed, Livia mimed a reach for the invisible button between '12' and '14.' She tucked her arms behind her back in an elegant motion when the elevator finally squeezed shut.

"Take me to Level Thirteen," she said, and a built-in DigiPad lit up to scan her face. After the tech verified Livia's identity, it took her on a minute-long descent.

She passed through a lot of familiar cars once the doors reopened. Stopping before the mouth of a wide room, Livia grinned at the dogs that stood guard on either side.

"Evening, Boss," a well-dressed Leonberger said with a smile. As she took Livia's coat, her fluffy tail wagged against the wall.

Livia admired the way the dogs' postures stiffened as she passed them. Without looking back, she said, "Valkyrie, come with me," retaining her grin even in the shadows of her office. "It's good to be home," she told the Akita at the door. "Continue to keep it safe for me, Apollo." 

"It's good to have you back, Boss," Valkyrie replied warmly. Her tail kept wagging as Livia motioned for her to sit, settling in a chair opposite the Leonberger. "Though—I need to ask—where were you, Madam? I—" Valkyrie paused, adjusting her tie and her words. "We were worried about you. Is Precinct Seven still on our tails, or—"

"We'll discuss that in a moment," Livia said sharply. "Precinct Seven is trivial compared to the mission I've planned for us. I had my sister fired from the D.P.D. for the misconduct she buried in her rookie days." On the verge of chuckling, Livia waved a paw dismissively. "It didn't take much. Her old supervisor still had everything on a loose file. And the Lieutenant said I'm a little..." she sucked air in through her teeth. "What's the word, darling?"

"What happened?" asked Valkyrie instantly, her paws rising to settle on the mahogany desktop.

"Let's just say I'm _valuable,"_ Livia replied with a smirk. "The Lieutenant understands I might need some time off after turning in _poor_ Connie. That I must feel dreadful after tattling on my blood." Nonchalantly, Livia typed a code into the screen behind her head, pulling up a reptile's mugshot. "Well, as soon as I'm 'better,' I'll be welcomed back to my post with pats on the shoulders."

"Wait..." Valkyrie's brow furrowed as a familiar face emerged onscreen. Quickly dismissing it, she sat against the chair and folded her paws in her lap. "You were gone a couple of nights, Madam. Where were you?"

"Tooru, for starters," said Livia, disgusted. "He wanted some more love, but it wasn't all service." Sighing impatiently, she paged Apollo for chilled wine from her DigiPad. She always needed it after another night with Tooru. After so many years, it felt like she spent more time at his place than anywhere else. "Then, there are our concerns with Precinct Seven, and..." Livia trailed off as Apollo arrived with a tray, carefully pouring Livia a glass of wine over a slate coaster. _"Her,"_ she continued with a wave of her paw. "I found shelter with some scary-looking babe. She had _quite_ the history." As Livia took a sip from her glass, she thanked Apollo and met Valkyrie's eyes. "Anyway, when I was at Tooru's, I got him talking with a little tequila. His weakness for that is almost as bad as the one he has for me." Livia leaned back in her seat and gestured to the screen. "Does the lizard look familiar?"

Valkyrie's dark eyes narrowed. "Yeah, that's the Crocodile Mutt," she nearly growled. "The one who mixed in counterfeit from the deal three weeks ago."

On the verge of laughing at the situation's convenience, Livia took another deep sip of her wine. _"That_ is Taavi Achebe. Half Croc, half Rock Monitor, whole thief. You know, Tooru worked with my sister in Precinct Seven." Her lips curled up into a grin. "It just so happens that Tooru has Achebe's case. Says he'll be at this club called The Crowbar tonight for another deal."

"Won't Tooru be—"

"Relax, love," Livia said softly. "I have another one of the girls looking after him. There's no way he'll come to work when he has _better_ things to do." Quirking a brow, Livia shut off the screen. "Better brush up on your dancing skills, darling. We've got a date with our little troublemaker."

Livia hadn't expected an establishment called 'The Crowbar' to have a dress code. Still, she wore her best, taking Valkyrie's arm and starting for the door. They looked more like a happy couple than a Boss and her guard dog, Livia leaning into Valkyrie now and then and Valkyrie wagging her tail like she had no control over it.

She stopped at the all-too-familiar Bouncer. 

From behind her DigiPad, Tracer's ears swiveled back in recognition. She didn't stare long before scrolling down the list, tapping a few times, and looking back up to say, "You're both on the list. Li Wei hopes you enjoy The Crowbar." 

Livia's face turned to stone as soon as she entered the bar. Turning away from Valkyrie, she settled at one of the stools. "I've ordered Blanche, Scotty, and Trigger to different locations in the perimeter." She waited to say more until Valkyrie took a seat. "They're waiting to help us isolate the objective. In case we encounter any trouble, they're armed." Raising a brow, she offered Valkyrie her hand. "But we can never have too much fun on a job, can we, love? Dance with me?"

They were lucky the music was so loud. Dancing provided them an opportunity for conversation about Taavi they could otherwise never have in public, and Valkyrie felt ecstatic spinning Livia around to the music.

"Now's the time to start our search for the lizard," Livia said as she looked over Valkyrie's shoulder. No sign of Taavi there. When she shifted positions to look again, a firm hand clamped her forearm, dragging her away from Valkyrie.

"Care for a dance, pretty thing?" asked a raspy-voiced Raccoon. Cigarette smoke flowed from his mouth as Livia yanked her arm free from his grasp.

"You don't know me," Livia said with narrowed eyes. She backed into Valkyrie, who snarled threateningly at the Raccoon.

Valkyrie exposed her teeth, growling, "She's taken, _buddy."_

"Hey," the Raccoon snapped. "I can get you kicked out of here for showing your teeth like that, _dog."_

But when Valkyrie snarled again, he snorted and retreated to a group congregating near the back of the club. "Wait," she said. "With the Raccoon! That's—"

Livia's expression darkened. "Taavi."

"Is our cover blown?" Valkyrie asked, shielding Livia from the group's line of vision with her height.

"No," Livia replied cooly. "But it's about to be, darling." As Taavi and company slipped into another room, Livia waited, her paw pressed against Valkyrie's abdomen to prevent her from advancing. "We have to wait until the others slip out the back. Then, we'll have the lizard alone."

"It's hard to hear them over all this music," commented Valkyrie as she heard a door swing closed. "But it sounds like they're gone."

Livia peeled her paw and away and gave Valkyrie a curt nod. As they advanced through a brief corridor, a smile formed on Livia's face.

Taavi certainly hadn't expected to see her there. When he backed into the wall, Livia's predatory grin only widened.

"Hello, Taavi, darling," Livia announced herself with an ostentatious raise of her paws. "Where have your little cronies gone?"

"Stay _back,"_ snarled Taavi, leveling a silenced pistol at Livia's head from across the room. "I know why you're here, Livia. I have people just outside the door." He determinedly gritted his teeth. "Don't fuck with me."

"No, you don't," Livia chuckled, leaning back as she ridiculed him. "Oh, honey. It's _you_ who shouldn't have fucked with _me."_ She raised a brow and took a bold step forward. "But you did, didn't you? Did you seriously think I didn't count my money after you 'paid' for my goods?"

"Come any closer and I'll shoot," growled Tavi, his fists closing around the pistol grip.

Valkyrie put a paw on Livia's shoulder. Livia brushed it off, her smile becoming a brash taunt. 

"I don't think you want my blood on your scaly hands, love." She tilted her head and carefully reached for the DigiPad behind her back. "You'd find yourself in quite the _mess."_


	3. Lost in the Fire

**TRACER**  
December 13, 2042

"Tracer, this is Finn. I'm at the bar. Come in."

When she felt the DigiPad shake within her paws, Tracer halted The Crowbar's entry line to take the call. "Finn, this is Tracer. What's going on in there?" Her brow furrowed as a Zebra Pedigree at the front yelled over the bartender's message.

_"There's suspicious...the back...you can deal with it...can't find Kanut."_ Though she only heard bits and pieces, she registered the beginning of a possible emergency well enough. 

"Excuse me, _sir,"_ Tracer said to the complaining Zebra. "If you still want to gripe in half an hour, you can take it up with the other staff. I'm locking these doors."

The Pedigree looked offended as Tracer swung the door closed, typing a security code in her DigiPad to keep it shut. She left only the back entrance open. Jogging through the alleyway, Tracer halted in her tracks when she saw the bodies of three, collapsed animals unresponsive on the asphalt. 

Growling, Tracer kept her back to the wall in case the culprits were nearby. She advanced to the door when no one shot at her and listened cautiously.

There was not one, but two familiar voices on the other side. And Tracer knew well which of them was dangerous.

Without hesitating any longer, Tracer bashed the door in with a mighty swing of her foot. It collapsed onto Taavi, sending him reeling toward the floor.

**_"Achebe!"_** Tracer roared as his pistol hit the ground. Dropping her jacket, she forced the lizard out from beneath the fallen panel and landed a bone-shattering punch to his jaw. "First, Bisset," she snarled as Taavi slowly regained his stature. "And now you're putting Li Wei's clientele in danger?" When Taavi tried to stand, she displayed her long canines, only snapping at him when he attempted to shove her. "Haven't you had _enough?"_

Tracer didn't notice the way Taavi held his nostrils as blood spilled out of them. She didn't notice the way the sanguinary substance freckled her white top as she tightened a fist around his jacket collar. 

All she noticed was his wolfish grin as he leaned in and whispered, "Inmarce, you and I both know there's no such thing as _enough."_

With a furious roar, Tracer threw her head down hard, meeting Taavi's skull with a reverberating crack.

The blow sent him sprawling into the corner. He raised his head slightly—just enough to marvel at how Tracer towered over him—and said, "Well, you got me this time, Inmarce." Kaavi coughed, blood splattering his jacket. "But the _real_ bad guys are behind you."

Tracer spun around after verifying Kaavi wasn't armed. Deep red streaking her top and face, she glared at Livia and Valkyrie with a raging fire behind her eyes. Each heaving exhale as her gaze glued itself to the familiar Siamese took the form of a bloodcurdling growl.

"Valkyrie, darling," said Livia, her voice giving way to a barely-noticeable twinge of surprise. "Show the lizard what happens when someone fucks with me."

"Yes," Valkyrie said cooly. Cocking a silenced pistol without a second of hesitation—before Taavi could plead for his life or Tracer could intervene—Valkyrie leveled the weapon at his forehead and pulled the trigger. "Madam."

Tracer released an angered breath as she stared at Kaavi's lifeless body. Her vision faded as she felt her long, sharp nails dig into a patch of muscled skin and fur. Warm blood wetted her paw and trickled onto the floor.

The smell of it helped her breathe.

When her eyes opened, she saw her claws buried deep in Valkyrie's shoulder, the dog herself snarling, "Get _off,_ you bitch!"

"Are you _insane?"_ Tracer snapped, spraying aggravated spit in Valkyrie's face. She didn't let go. "You killed him without even giving him a chance to say something!"

"Mmm, my love," a voice behind Valkyrie purred. "You made this so easy. Trust me when I tell you he didn't have anything important to say." Livia circled Tracer from the side, smirking as she typed a code into her DigiPad. "But _you_ do." 

Livia firmly held her finger to a button: the last thing Tracer saw before her whole world faded into nothingness.

**October 6, 2042**

Tracer had been outside the day before, but somehow the sensation of sunlight on her fur felt foreign. This was a different sun—a different warmth.

For the first time in four-and-a-half long years, Tracer was entirely free.

The weightlessness she felt didn't dawn on her until her brother stepped out of the cab. Even after months without a visit, she recognized his antlers and spotted pattern and the way his feet hardly left the ground when he walked.

"Ty," she greeted him gingerly as he waited on the sidewalk. When he stopped, the guards who'd flanked her retreated inside. "You look...so grown up."

Tyrone smiled and offered her a pair of old clothes. "I could say the same. Prison _aged_ you," he teased, then added, "These are for you. I didn't know if you'd like whatever they gave you on your way out, so I thought I should bring your favorites."

"Thanks, Ty." Tracer accepted the outfit, meeting his eyes with a smile. "But I think I'd rather hug you. And I want to talk about Sarah and Celine." 

Pulling Tracer into a brotherly embrace, Tyrone spoke over her shoulder: "Sarah's fine. She wants another kid, but we're waiting until our savings look better. And Celine will be thrilled to meet you." He pulled away, still wearing a trace of a smile. "I put a good word in for Aunt Sal."

Tracer snorted, amused. "I don't think it takes much to make an impression on a two-year-old."

"Maybe not," Tyrone admitted as he and Tracer entered the back of the cab. "But we all miss you," he sighed and met her eyes. "Sometimes, I worry about you like we're still in high school. It's hard sometimes for me to remember that until I was thirteen, we had completely different lives." For only a moment, he looked away. "That fact became very real to me when I heard the Judge say you were getting four years. Sometimes, I worry you're doom-driven. Even if I want to help you more than I want anything else, you have this way of attracting hopeless situations."

"It's all right, Ty." Tracer pressed a playful fist to Tyrone's shoulder. "This isn't like when I was eighteen. I know..." As she trailed off, her ears pinned back. "I know that was stupid. I thought I could save mom alone."

"Nothing could have saved her." Tyrone shook his head slowly. "You couldn't have. I couldn't have. The most expensive treatments in the world couldn't have." He gave her forearm a gentle squeeze. "I want you to promise me you're finished with lost causes. That you're finished with crime."

Ears still against her skull, Tracer met Tyrone halfway. "I know I wasn't there to help you get through everything when mom died. And I'm sorry."

"We'll work on that promise," Tyrone said and released her arm. "For now, I've found you an apartment. Your first two months of rent are already covered." With a hand on her paw, he added, "Get a job. Start with whatever you can find, and I know you'll land on your feet."

Tracer craned her head to observe their hands. "I don't think I could ever thank you enough, Ty."

"Don't thank me," Ty said softly. "Thank yourself and don't make the same mistake twice."

**December 16, 2042**

_Don't thank me._

When Tracer opened her eyes, she was met with darkness and the sound of her brother's voice. 

_Thank yourself and don't make the same mistake twice._

A light came gradually into view. It was blurry—scattered—and accompanied by a familiar sound.

 _"What..."_ Tracer managed, eyes widening when she finally registered the world around her. She thrashed and tightened her fists when she found she couldn't move her arms, fighting against chains too thick to break. They were far stronger than the ones in prison. Tracer knew that much.

Growling contemptuously, she faced the screen mounted across the room, where a fire blazed across streets depicted in a scene that looked like— _no._

It _was_ Detroit.

_"A single corpse was found at the scene of the fire at The Crowbar this Saturday."_

 _The Crowbar._ When did it burn down? When, between—

_Oh._

How long had Tracer been chained to the wall? What day was it? Where _was_ she?

_"He has been identified as Finn Rogers, age twenty-three. Foul play is not suspected."_

Roaring, Tracer snarled, tearing through one of the cuffs binding her wrists. As she thrashed against the wall, growling—spit flying onto the floor in her rage—the television shut off.

"Oh, darling," an eerie voice purred. "There's no way that much anger is good for your health. You look like you need a glass of wine."

Tracer recognized the figure that emerged from the shadows. Settling in a metal chair, the Siamese quirked a brow at her. "Then again, you prefer a cold beer. Don't you, my love?"

 ** _"Finn Rogers..."_** Tracer growled his name, her free hand tightening angrily into a fist. "...was a _university_ student. He had a future." She leveled her furious glare at Livia. "Did you take it away?"

"I'm afraid I have far more important matters to attend to, dear." Livia nonchalantly gripped the back of her chair. "Like your association with the lizard, for instance." Just out of arms' reach, she leaned into a half-shackled Tracer. "Surely, you weren't planning on keeping something like that from me."

"Why does it matter to you?" snarled Tracer as she battled her second cuff to no avail. "Where am I, anyway? And why are _you_ here?"

"Mmmm," Livia hummed softly. "You still haven't figured it out. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you, my love?" From an adjacent table, she lifted a small revolver. "You know I could kill you if I wanted to. No one found your little, lizard friend." The Siamese narrowed her violet eyes. "And no one would find you if I decided to unload this in your head."

"You're bluffing," replied Tracer, her voice cooler than before. She'd looked death in the eyes many times. Still, she couldn't believe Livia would shoot her, even after watching Valkyrie murder Taavi on her command. "I don't understand why you would do this. If you could just _explain—"_

"I don't owe you an explanation," Livia snapped and cocked the weapon with a push of her paw. "I don't owe you anything. I've already repaid you for your hospitality by not shooting you on the spot."

"I just don't—"

Tracer stopped speaking when Livia leveled the gun at her head. Instead, a deep growl rumbled in her throat.

"Now, now, darling," purred Livia. "Play nice and give me the information."

"He's already in prison," Tracer sighed, her ears swiveling forward. "Nothing I could tell you is going to benefit you."

 _"Who_ is in prison?" 

"Jean Bisset," replied Tracer as Livia lowered the gun. "Achebe and I worked for him. He was my employer for a year and a half, but Achebe's for six years." Tracer huffed when Livia replaced the revolver on the table, claiming her seat once more. She still couldn't believe the dainty Siamese she found loitering on the street had her shackled to a wall. "It's what I went to prison for. I was a brute. Bisset sent me to rough up clients with late payments, but one day Achebe abandoned a job. Bisset needed a replacement to transport some merchandise." Tracer met Livia's eyes from across the room. "So he sent me. And I discovered quickly the reason Achebe left was that the run was fucked from the start." Failing to see how her information could assist Livia, Tracer released another tentative breath. "I don't know why you wanted to hear that, but I just told you everything I know."

Chuckling softly, Livia pulled open the chamber of her revolver and spilled six, hollow-point rounds onto the table. "You know, darling, I was impressed with the way you handled that lizard." She cocked her head and flashed Tracer a devilish smile. "Between the kindness you showed me when I had nowhere to go and the information you've provided me, I think you deserve a second chance at life. Or..." she considered with a pause. "Based on what you've told me, this might be your third."

"What do you want?" Snarling, Tracer flexed the claws on her free hand.

"Look around, my love." Livia pointedly crossed her arms. "You're not going anywhere. You know too much." With a purr rising in her throat, she sauntered just out of Tracer's reach. "So I want you to work for _me._ To be my extra muscle, if you will."

Things seldom scared Tracer as much as Livia's preposition. Her fists tightened as she wondered whether or not her brother could forgive her if she decided to do what it took to survive. After this blew over, wouldn't Livia have to let her go?

Tracer already knew the answer to that question.

It was all over Livia's face. 

She _was_ doom-driven, and no matter which path she chose to take, a bitter fate rushed up to meet her.

"I'd rather rot here." Tracer tried to stare up at the ceiling, but the brace around her neck bound her head too tightly against the wall. "That dog you have. The one who killed Achebe..." She met Livia's eyes again instead. "I'll never be that way again."

"Well," said Livia, her smile never faltering. "Then be my guest."

With that, she left the room and shut the door, the news playing on a loop in her wake.


	4. Under the Upper Hand

**LIVIA**  
December 21, 2042

Livia didn't usually drive herself places.

She had chauffeurs for that, and, generally, she paid them well. But there were times she liked to sit behind the wheel instead.

Now was one of those times.

When she could be discreet, Livia favored motorcycles over limos or cabs and enjoyed riding the one she'd named Vixen to her little hideout across the South side of Detroit. She sped into the quiet suburbs with a small but genuine smile, the first one she'd produced in a long time.

Staying somewhere besides her organization's hideout offered Livia a type of comfort she could seldom think to replicate. Of course, it was home to her as much as a home could be, and—seeing Calypso's gang didn't know of her location—she was perfectly safe in the shade of her suburban apartment.

Or so she thought.

As she ascended a spiraling staircase up to her apartment doorstep, she spotted a package sitting just outside the flat.

_Strange._

She didn't order anything recently.

She took a closer look, lifting the package to inspect it. The way it was taped suggested its category aligned with that of her _other_ business, and perhaps there were drugs or weapons inside.

It would be best to take it back to HQ.

Disheartened that she didn't get to spend time away from her Empire, Livia hopped back on Vixen and drove.

Livia took a cab the rest of the way to the parking garage after setting Vixen aside. When she emerged into the elevator, she underwent the same, tedious routine of verifying her identity with the DigiPad and descending into her lair.

"Good afternoon, Madam," said Val, her tail beginning to wag, "it's good to see you again."

Apollo's eyebrows knit together with suspicion. "Boss, I thought you were done for the day."

Sighing as if she couldn't care less, Livia placed the package onto her desk table. She refused to show her curiosity and secret fear of what was in the box to her subordinates. In the world she lived in, others took advantage of fear.

So Livia made herself seem intrepid around the clock.

"What do you think is in it?" Apollo asked, finding his place beside the desk.

Livia shrugged. "Given its weight, it might be a small portion of our drug convoy that went missing...or perhaps a few weapons."

"I don't think you should open it," said Apollo as he stared down the cardboard box. "It looks suspicious."

"That's what I thought," Livia agreed, tilting her head, "But the only way to know for sure is to open it, isn't it, love?"

"Let her open it." Val put her hands on the desk, still far away from the prize her boss wanted to unearth. She wasn't so foolish as to forget her place in Livia's life. "She knows what she's doing."

Livia nodded and reached for a boxcutter stored in her desk drawer. Unsheathing it, she cut the tape, immediately sickened by a putrid smell that leaked from the box.

Inside was a patch of rotting, white fur. Livia could see ears when she looked more closely.

_"It's..."_ Livia trailed off for a moment, clearing her throat before regaining her composure. "It's Blanche."

Blanche had been one of Livia's most loyal dogs. In her chest, she felt an intense pang of loss.

No one could replace Blanche.

And there, in the no-longer-mysterious box that had shown up at Livia's doorstep, was his head.

Livia immediately felt Blanche's rotting fur between her fingers. It took more effort than she'd hoped to stop herself from crying, but looking between Val and Apollo, she managed not to.

She was nothing if not strong.

Despite that fact, she crumpled to the floor, the skin on her fingers beginning to bubble and burn.

 _"Madam!"_ Val reached for her, but Apollo swatted her hands out of the way.

Val growled, "What do you think _you're_ do—"

"The head," Apollo interjected, "It's poisoned. Boss needs to get to the shower. _Now."_

Val's mouth hung open as Apollo carefully escorted Livia to the guards' locker room. He turned the cold water on, setting Livia on the ground. He hoped the water would wash some of the poison off.  


When he took a second look at Livia, the state of her hands alarmed him. Most of the skin on it was gone, and the issue had spread all the way to her elbows.  


His Boss would need to be treated carefully and needed to be prepared for weeks of immense pain.  


While the water washed Livia's infection away, Apollo went to fetch the Antidote Kit so it wouldn't spread anymore. He carefully administered several universal antidotes, unsure exactly which poison the sender had used.  


One thing Apollo was sure of, though, was the identity of the sender.  


It was Calypso Torres: a member of a once-great family and Livia's rival gang leader.

She wanted Livia dead, and she almost succeeded in killing her.  


But Apollo and Valkyrie were quick. Neither was about to let the Boss die on their watch.  


"You can't stay here anymore, Boss," Apollo said softly, "You can't go to your flat, either. She knows where you live. She'll find you."  


Her arms shaking and lips quivering, Livia adhered her courage to its sticking place. Her gaze hardened when she looked to Apollo.  


"Take me to the Prisoner."   


Livia put a paw to her mouth as she closed the iron door behind her to prevent herself from throwing up. Her hand stung as she touched her chin, the skinless bits searing every time she moved.

As she struggled to keep herself from fainting, she heard Tracer growl.  


"And to _what_ do I owe the pleasure of—woah—"  


The Mutt cut herself off. Livia thought it was because she saw her nearly fall.  


Who was Tracer to take pity on her? She was the leader of a tight network of organized crime, and she could take care of herself.  


"Are you alright?" Tracer asked, still chained up as she was days before.  


"Do I _look_ alright, darling?" Livia sassed her and sat in her metal chair. "For your information, someone just made an attempt on my life. We're on the verge of a gang war with Calypso Torres, so, _yes,_ I'm just _peachy,_ love," she spat. The bandages on her arms burned when she tried to grip the back of the chair. She winced and released it. "My apartment's not safe, the dogs can't leave here for reasons I won't discuss with you, and I need to recover from this _stupid_ poisoning."

"Poison did _that?"_ Tracer asked and pointed to Livia's skinless, bandaged arms.  


"Shut up and listen," Livia nearly growled. She was so desperate she feared Tracer could hear it in her voice. "I want to cut you a deal. It's nothing shady—nothing illegal—and we seem to have an understanding that you're without a job. So, if and when I release you back into the real world, you probably won't be off to a good start. Isn't that right, darling?"  


Livia saw Tracer's eyes narrow at the proposition. Even though days of watching the same newscast and hardly eating a thing likely had something to do with her decision-making then, she hesitated longer than Livia had expected to ask, "What did you have in mind?"  


"Easy, love," said Livia, "You'll be my bodyguard and I'll stay at your place. I'll pay your entire rent as long as I stay and will give you a hefty sum each week in cash." Livia cocked her head, pulling the key to Tracer's chains from a filing cabinet and dangling them before her eyes. "As far as I know, you have a talent for protecting others. And I'm not asking you to kill anyone. I'm not asking you to transport an ounce of drugs."  


Livia watched as something in Tracer's deepset eyes glinted. She sure took a long time to think it over, but then again, Livia was certain she wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. It seemed Tracer was more streetsmart than anything.  


"Fine," Tracer huffed, "but if you start leading me down the path I promised to abandon, I need out of the deal." She locked eyes with Livia, narrowing her amber gaze.  


"Don't worry, darling. I have Valkyrie to do those things for me."  


Livia struggled to unlock each of Tracer's chains between her wobbling, skinless fingers, but managed to use her larger form for support as soon as she was freed and Livia stumbled.  


Livia knew she had found the defender she needed.  


"Now, take me back to your place, will you?" Her ears drew back as she felt her arms burn terribly. "I need to lie down."  



End file.
